


Southern Heat

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-31
Updated: 2001-08-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 10:38:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: PWP. Walter and Alex meet in the deep South





	Southern Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Southern Heat by Laurel

Title: Southern Heat  
Author: Laurel  
E-mail:   
Date: July 2001  
Archive: Yes to DitB, others just ask first  
Pairing: Sk/K  
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sex  
Spoilers: Terma   
Summary: PWP. Walter and Alex meet in the deep South  
Notes: This piece was inspired by Poppy Z. Brite's novel "Drawing Blood", a fantastic work of horror fiction, featuring poetic writing and a hot gay romance. I basically took the elements of a hot southern summer wrapped in the tangling vines of the kudzu. Kudzu is a vine that was imported from Asia. It grows in the southeastern U.S. and can grow a foot a day, lending it alternative names such as mile-a-minute vine. It has heart-shaped leaves and sweet-smelling blossoms.  
Note: Snippet of poem by James Dickey is from his collection, "Helmets".

* * *

In Georgia, the legend says  
That you must close your windows  
At night to keep it out of the house.  
The glass is tinged with green, even so,....

"Kudzu" by James Dickey

It was too hot for clothes, too humid for the lightest cotton sheet to touch my body. 

I was waiting for him, as I always do, as he does for me. We take every moment that we can, no matter how brief. There's still a war on. He fights on the inside, me on the outside, the way it's always been.

He was here on assignment. It's easy to track him. I could find him even without surveillance. I can follow him by scent, by his undeniable presence, by sheer force of will.

I still remember the dizzy feeling I experienced the first time I saw him. He was standing in the doorway of his office, his broad shoulders filling the space. For a moment I wondered if they were forced to move the frame to accommodate his bulk.

I told him that observation once and he laughed. I love making him laugh that deep chuckle. I love to make him smile; that broad grin pulling his normally tight poker face wide and gentle. There isn't much that's funny when you're the big boss, caught between a boss that was too good to be shot and the likes of a pouty agent bent on his quest.

He entered quietly but I still heard him. We didn't speak, only looked at each other, seeing what new sorrows and horrors were there; looking deeper to a delightfully still new but familiar mixture of affection and longing, love and lust that were buried there for our safety.

I closed my eyes and took an ice cube from the sweating glass on the bedside table and began to slide it down my neck. The frozen cube melted quickly on my heated skin, leaving a trail of dew on me.

We'd traveled many miles to get here. Not just physical miles with endless, shimmering pavement snaking through the countryside, flanked by its old, haunted cemeteries, abandoned farmhouses, tar-paper shacks, the heat of a thousand summers compressed into one, the whispers of kudzu growing and blooming outside the dusty cabin we were in.

It had taken years of trust built tenuously, layer upon layer. It had taken opening up our armored hearts to let in a bit of light, that once ignited, burned hot and bright until all was burned away, as incendiary as the fire that the phoenix rises from.

We found ourselves in a world beyond hate, beyond the darkness that always threatened to envelop me like a black hole, beyond the law that chained him. We found in each other's arms more than redemption or debts repaid. We found respite and most importantly forgiveness.

He took off his glasses, folded them up and placed them on the dresser. I watched him undress while the ice cube melted. What unbearable humidity there was. We were in the heart of God's country, or somewhere close to its geography, in the midst of lush vegetation, where the air itself tasted of honeysuckle, whiskey and the tang of sweat.

The air was humming with the energy of lust, undaunted by the cruel weather. The hum of honeybees electrified the air. I imagined I could hear the twang of home-made instruments and the honeyed voices of the country people singing songs passed down from their ancestors.

Outside the cabin, the vines of the kudzu curled around the window frames. Any minute they might punch through the glass and enter the cabin uninvited, their heart-shaped leaves waving, spreading the sweet scent of their blossoms.

The cube left a tiny spot of coldness on my skin but it didn't last long. 

His clothes were bathed in sweat. The heat had gotten to him too. His damp shirt with rings of sweat underneath the arms and his wrinkled trousers were testament to the heat. Everything went into a pile on the floor. 

He turned, offering a great view of his strong back. He took the water pitcher and poured a liberal amount of clean water in the bowl. He slowly took the wash rag I'd set out and sponged the sweat off his body, through the tangle of graying hairs on his chest, down to the rippling muscles of stomach and thighs. He finished washing and rinsed out the towel. He took a long swallow of cold water and regarded me long and slow, his dark eyes appraising me

I let him look.

>From my cropped hair, down my throat, arm, chest, hard cock down to my legs and ending at my feet. When he finished, my breath was coming out hard as though I'd taken a long pull of moonshine. My body thrummed with need. 

I could trace the tracks of sweat trailing down his chest, through the graying curls on his chest and tickling his ribs. The drops slithered down and pooled in his navel, left dew on his scars and dampened the faint creases in his abdomen. His thighs were damp, the nest of curls at his groin glistened where his thick cock proudly jutted out from muscular thighs.

I held my breath as I looked at him and let it out in one big chest-exploding rush. 

He approached the bed smiling. I spread my legs automatically, thighs twitching with desire. He measured my want with his cool, searching eyes, with massive hands spreading my thighs, weighing my aching balls in his palm, another hand wrapped around my stiff shaft, until I moaned.

He smiled again.

I could smell the sweat on his body now, no longer sour, with a hard day of work inspiring it, but fresh dew, bringing out his natural scent, the cologne he'd splashed on that morning, the musk of desire and he brought with him the smells of the outdoors, of black earth freshly turned, of wild flowers and hay.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on his feel. The mattress sank down with his weight. I could feel the sweat snaking down my back and soaking into the mattress cover. 

At first there were just his hands. They were big but gentle, rough on my sensitive flesh when he sensed I wanted that. The fingers were thick and strong, rough with callouses. I imagined the whorls of his fingerprints imprinted on my hard cock.

A wet, knowledgeable tongue followed, bathing me in its lust. At times it felt like a lusty lover's instrument, at times a jungle cat with a wayward kitten, bathing me clean.

The tongue snaked around sensitive thighs, lapped at the juncture of thigh and groin, making the heat rise from my crotch like mist from the hot pavement. The tongue wound around my legs to suck at my toes. The wetness cooled me somewhat until it dried.

It moved upward over flat belly and chest to lap devilishly at my neck and throat. It darted away only to land somewhere else. It must have read my mind because it paused at my groin, licking the whole length of my rigid cock. I groaned at its insistent caress. Sweat and pre-cum glistened at the head until it was licked away.

The tongue was innocent at first. Just darting at an ear like a shy animal, tasting the salty tang of my throat until it grew bolder and latched onto a nipple. Only now the tongue had partners. It had sharp teeth to nip and bite gently, promising pain but giving only pleasure. It had soft lips to kiss tenderly, maddeningly, at skin that was helpless under the assault. 

The sweat poured from every tiny pore to bathe me in its slick, salty film. He didn't seem to mind. That's because the same dew covered him. It glued us together so that when he pulled away, our skin made a little squelching sound as our bodies parted.

I opened my eyes as he straddled me. His eyes were dark brown, dark as death, but lit up now with love and tenderness. A smile played at his lips, somewhere between a grin and a smirk. I touched my mouth and realized I had the same expression on my lips.

He bent down again, gluing us together: thigh to thigh, bellies kissing, chests expanding with strangled breath, rubbing rigid cocks like we were starting a fire.

I moaned out loud. I couldn't help it. I couldn't control my reactions to this man. Not the way I felt, or the way he made me ache to feel his touch; not the moans and cries he elicited from me with tender kisses and rough caresses. The time we were apart was a deep chasm. The time together was precious. Not a moment was wasted. It didn't matter if we made love or talked or slept in each other's arms. Any time we were together was sweet. It kept the wolves at bay for just a little longer.

We came apart again with a sound like a boot crushing through damp grass and mud.

Walter didn't have to prepare me much. I was soaked in sweat. It ran between my thighs, bathing me in its sticky embrace. It was a living entity, caressing me on a meandering path from head to foot, creating rivers across my torso, down my right arm, tickling the scars on my left arm, trailing down my legs, seeking entrance from where it came.

Walter knelt between my legs and urged my hips up. He pushed a couple of damp pillows beneath my ass. He prepared both of us and as he leaned over me, we became glued together again.

I scissored strong legs around his small waist. He smiled again as he pushed himself into me. I could feel the thick mushroom-shaped head popping through the tight ring of muscle. The pain was only a spark. He pushed through and I groaned with the small contact. 

He hovered over me, looking for signs of pain on my face. He questioned me silently, wondering if he should proceed.

I nodded and whimpered, eager for more.

He fucked me slowly, feeding me his hot, thick cock an inch at a time. He retreated and pushed further, teasing me, letting my tight ass get used to his intrusion.

I closed my eyes, concentrating only on sensation. His thick cock was bottoming out and I could feel his balls slap lightly against my raised ass. His arms were braced on either side of me. I brushed against his arm with my hand, feeling the tight cords of muscle contracting. His rhythm was gentle, a light gliding motion that would soon turn into an inferno of need.

My hand was searching his body for the source of that strength that could easily overpower me, but only held me secure. It reached for his thickly muscled arm, ran down his back, up his bull neck and swept his face gently, blindly searching. 

He growled as he thrust harder, letting his hard shaft poke at my sensitive gland. He swiveled his hips like Elvis. He retreated and pushed back in slowly, shyly, until I opened my eyes again and smiled at his teasing.

I held his body tighter with my strong legs and planted my hand on his firm ass, pulling him in deeper.

He shifted his movements so that he drove straight through the heart of me. He pierced me with his driving lust. He sparked mind-numbing pleasure inside me again and again.

Soon, nothing existed but our sweat-soaked skin slapping together and his cock searing liquid fire in my ass, accompanied by our grunts and groans and whimpers. My cock, curled against my belly, was rubbed with increasing friction against his hard abdomen. His face was contorted, concentrating on holding his orgasm back as long as he could. I closed my eyes and had to open my mouth to let out the scream that was building in my throat.

Walter collapsed on me, pushing the pillows away so that they fell to the floor. He ground his hips into my groin, getting inside of me a breath of a space closer than before. His loud groan filled my ear and the liquid splash of his semen was nearly audible.

I held him tighter, unwilling to let him go.

It might have been mere minutes or half an hour later that we pulled apart. The ripping sound as our skin peeled away from each other echoed the ache in my heart as I realized our time together was limited. 

He had promised that we would be together soon. Walter has never broken a promise yet, even if he has to move heaven and earth to keep it.

We surveyed the damage to the bed. It was a sodden mess, sticky with our mingled fluids and the perspiration of a thousand summers that flowed down our bodies and into the sheets.

We snuggled up, not caring about the heat and smiled weakly in satisfaction. I curled myself around Walter. He cradled me in his strong arms. Both of us were sleepy, too tired to talk, content just to bask in our glorious love-making.

Soon we fell asleep, entwined in each other's arms, like the rippling vines of the kudzu circling the cabin. The fierce sunlight barely filtered through the over-sized leaves that nearly obliterated the window pane. We were wrapped in its green embrace and didn't wake until morning.

  
Archived: August 27, 2001 


End file.
